


Confession

by PBWritesStuff



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: BAMF John Wick, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Santino is a little shit, Torture, Whipping, electrical shock, it spiralled, this was meant to be a one-shot but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBWritesStuff/pseuds/PBWritesStuff
Summary: In which the Baba Yaga is captured by the Camorra, and young Santino is the assassin's interrogator. To what lengths will John go to protect himself when caught in a turf war?(Smutty, smutty lengths, that's what)





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> My area of expertise is in the Sicilian Mafia and their American counterparts - they come from the south of Italy, and Sicily is really a country of it's own more than an Italian province, as I understand it. The Camorra, on the other hand, come from the north of Italy, and probably have all sorts of different conventions and traditions and ranks. I don't care enough to research it for my John Wick porn. You know what I did care enough to research? Stun guns and tasers. 
> 
> "This is it. From now on, I'm taking a break from writing wildly self-indulgent stories." 
> 
> *Proceeds to write 5000 words of gratuitous Johntino torture porn*

Santino quickly adjusted his suit and hair on his way to the interrogation room. He was going to meet the infamous _Baba Yaga_ today, the spectre of the _bratva_, the Boogeyman of the Russian Mob.

  
John Wick.  
  
They'd ambushed him, clonked him on the back of the head, and dosed him with chloroform for good measure - it was the only way to transport him safely. For anyone else, Santino might have been concerned it was overkill, but this was John Wick, the unkillable man. Anything else might have been _underkill_. Santino heard he'd once killed three guys in a bar with a pencil.  
  
A fucking pencil!  
  
Who the fuck can _do_ that? John Wick, that's who. And his father had given _him_ the honor of being Wick's interrogator. The atmosphere of anticipation was nearly _stifling_.  
  
Santino gulped in a big breath before opening the steel door of the underground chamber. There were soundproof walls, and cabinets full of tools and weapons, and _mood lighting_ from a brazier of hot coals on one side. There were hard suspension points in the ceiling, walls and floor, for securing unruly prisoners.   
  
Wick was tethered that way - hands in front of him, secured to the floor with a bar, and held on his knees by straps around his calves, also secured to the concrete floor. For good measure, there was an adjustable tether around his throat, getting tighter every time Wick tilted his head, and providing good incentive for keeping his head up and eyes on his interrogator. It mustn't have been comfortable, but the young Italian felt a rush of power at the thought that _the_ _Baba Yaga_ was here, on his knees, at Santino D'Antonio's complete mercy.  
  
How _exciting_.  
  
John Wick focused his eyes on Santino as soon as he walked through the door, and the phantom of the Russian mafia smirked ever so slightly, and chuckled, gruff from unconsciousness.  
  
"They sent a _child_ to interrogate me?" He growled out, eyes alight with amusement.  
  
"_Hardly_. I'm the son of Giovanni D'Antonio, twenty years old. I'm the best in my family at extracting information, and that's why they sent _me_." It was a bit of a bluff. He was very good at interrogations, but he wasn't the best. He _wanted_ _to be_ though, and John Wick was something of a test for him, a rite of passage. If he succeeded here, his father would start to give him more freedoms and responsibilities, if only he could prove he was worthy of them.  
  
John merely stared at him, stoic and fearless, as if he sensed the lie, and it made Santino want to _break_ him.  
  
"You're not even old enough to drink." Wick said, breaking his neutral demeanor with a smile. Santino ignored him.  
  
"How are your bonds?" The younger man spoke, conversationally, walking casually behind Wick, to tug at the tether around his throat. John leaned his head back with the movement, raking over Santino with his eyes.  
  
"I imagine you're used to it by now," Santino continued, softly. "It shouldn't feel much different than being on Tarasov's leash."  
  
Wick growled at that, and Santino smiled.  
  
"Did I hit a _sore spot_ for the _bratva_ lapdog?" He laughed, and pulled tighter on the leather strap, constricting John's air supply until he stopped growling and glared up at Santino with venomous eyes.  
  
"It's what you are, you know. A weapon. A tool, meant to be used and thrown aside when its outlived its usefulness." A hand carefully on his gun, Santino released the pressure, and smiled as John took in deep breaths of air. He leaned in, whispering into the shell of his ear.  
  
"Do you really think Viggo Tarasov is coming for you?"  
  
He jerked back when Wick snapped at him, missing his nose by a hair. Pistol in hand, he struck the other man across the face with it, knocking his head to the side, and pulling the tether tight again, forcing John to straighten up in order to avoid being strangled. Stars flashed behind his eyes as he refocused, biting through the pain to glare at Santino once more.  
  
"Face it, _Signor_ Wick. You are ex-pen-di-ble." The young man smiled, sounding out every syllable of the word like he was _tasting_ it. "Your people have abandoned you, so tell me what I want to know."  
  
He strolled casually over to a cabinet, and pulled out a slim baton with two metal prongs. An electric cattle prod. He idly flicked over the switch so John could see the electricity arc between the two prongs with a crackle of ozone.  
  
"Most cattle prods we use on farms in Naples have about four-thousand volts and very low ampage. Compared to a taser or stun gun, it's relatively low damage." Santino whipped it around in the air a few times, in moves and stances that John recognized as related to fencing. "This one uses the same, but the voltage isn't what causes damage - it's the amperage. This particular device runs on four thousand volts and a two-point-one milliamps current. It's not enough to stun you, but -"  
  
"It'll hurt like hell." John interrupted in a low growl, and Santino smirked.  
  
"Who ordered the hit on Tony Luciano?" The young man asked, flicking his thumb over the device's switch again, and relishing the way John leaned back minutely at the spark.  
  
"I thought the Camorra stayed out of Cosa Nostra business." He commented, almost casually, and Santino responded with a jab to his ribs, punctuated with the sudden smell of ozone as he screamed with the shock. Wick wasn't the kind of man who screamed at nothing, but it was hard for even the Baba Yaga to keep his cool in the face of a Camorra-designed torture device. It felt like every nerve ending in his body was screaming along with him, as his spine heated up and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It was like losing control, like an army of ants were under his skin, and using his muscles without his say.  
  
"Luciano is a family friend. We made a... _Special_ case for him." Santino mused, once Wick had slumped in his chains again. He was breathing slowly and deliberately, and after a moment, he straightened up, breathing deeper now as the tension let up on his throat.  
  
"The things you'll do to me are _nothing_ compared to what Tarasov will do to me if he finds out I talked." John murmured.  
  
"I don't doubt Mr. Tarasov's affinity for torture." Santino replied, stabbing out again with the rod, and closing his eyes to let Wick's screams wash over him as he writhed under the current and the strength of his bonds. He waited for the assassin to recover before he continued.  
  
"I just wonder, _Signor_ Wick, how much you can _take?_" He laughed, jabbing the older man under the ribs again, and if it was possible, he enjoyed this keening moan even more than the last, it made his _toes curl_ to be the one to _break_ the _Baba Yaga,_ no matter how long that took.  
  
"Just tell me what I want to know, and it will all be over, John." Santino purred as his captive panted, struggling to hold his head up against the constant pull of the tether. "We know you killed Tony Luciano. We just need to know who directed you."  
  
He jabbed again with the prod, watching the tines go through the man's shirt with enough power to singe the cotton and fill the room with the smell of ozone. John let out the loudest wail, arching his back into the voltage like a cat as he screamed himself hoarse, and Santino laughed, smiling at the sight of it.  
  
When it was over, and he slumped against the tether, Wick looked up at him with an appraising eye, reading him like a book. Suddenly, Santino felt a nudge of guilt at the end of his subconscious. He didn't feel guilty for enjoying the torture, but somehow, he felt guilty that John _knew_ he enjoyed it. It was like being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he felt a childish desire to lie and say it didn't affect him at all.  
  
But it did. Seeing the stronger, older, wiser man on the floor, under his complete power and total control. Being the one to hold it over the best assassin the world had ever known. It was fucking _thrilling_.  
  
Santino went back to the cabinet, carefully replacing the cattle prod. He made a show of looking through the torture devices on offer, leaving his prisoner to stew in the knowledge that something worse was coming. Finally, Santino turned away from the cabinet, closing it softly, and returned to John with a whip in his hands, coiling beneath his fingers like a snake.  
  
"I do favor the whip for torture. It's more efficient than its other cousins."  
  
"Fancy yourself an Indiana Jones?" Wick replied roughly, and he raised an eyebrow through the curtain of his lank hair, as Santino smirked in reply, lifting his chin with the end of the whip.  
  
"A riding crop can bruise, but the relatively low damage is easy to adjust to. It takes real _work_ to break a man with a riding crop." Santino coiled the whip in his beltloop, and started in on the buttons of Wick's shirt, unfastening them one by one, and watching for those snapping teeth of his. It didn't much matter, since John was too tired at the moment to fight back.  
  
"A belt _can_ draw blood, but you have to hit hard enough, and in my experience, a belt has more of a solid feel to it. It can be grounding, which isn't good for keeping a prisoner on his toes."   
  
Santino pulled John's shirt down around his bound wrists to get it out of his way as he hummed appreciatively at what he saw. Wick had a delightfully toned chest and stomach, and the rippling of his abdomen made Santino even more excited at the prospect of having such a powerful man under his complete control. His back was covered with ink, and a saying in Latin that Santino recognized instantly.  
  
_Fortis Fortuna Adivuat._ Fortune favors the bold.  
  
"But a _whip_..." The second D'Antonio child nearly purred as he uncurled the weapon and stretched it to its full length with both hands. "A bull whip is precise, painful, _scarring_. It always breaks the skin, every single time, and the pain is a burn you can't get used to."  
  
He smiled almost fondly, then, and tilted his head to the left, looking at John Wick with the expression of a man who was opening a present on Christmas.  
  
"Tell me, _Signor_ Wick. Have you ever been flogged?"   
  
John looked up at him with a neutral expression, sweating ever so lightly from the electric shocks and the strain of keeping his posture.  
  
"Is that a no?" Santino asked, before he smirked, and ran the tip of his tongue over those pink lips of his. "Ah, well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"  
  
Without another word, Santino brought the whip down with a searing snap, and John gasped, sucking in air to keep from crying out as a streak of fire lashed across his shoulder blades.   
  
"It's _exquisite_, isn't it?" D'Antonio purred, from behind him, and he brought his designer Italian leather shoe down onto the spot he'd lashed, where a line of blood was beading. John let out a choked gasp and hung his head for just as long as the tether allowed him, before coming back up with a groan.  
  
"Have _you_?" Wick groaned out, and it sounded more like _view _than any real sentence. Santino understood though, and he smirked.  
  
"'Have I' _what_?" He chuckled. "Ever been flogged?"  
  
There was a moment when John couldn't read him - odd for someone like Santino, who wore his heart on his sleeve and didn't know how to hide his feelings like his father or his sister. Then the moment was gone, and Santino D'Antonio was all arrogance and sadism again, all teeth and cheekbones.  
  
"That's not your place to ask." Santino replied, and he brought the whip down hard - once, twice, a third time - and just as John was getting used to it, he stopped.  
  
"I'm the one asking questions here, and you still haven't answered me." The young man clucked in a sort of mock-sympathy as Wick groaned, feeling the strangest sensation of cold air on hot wounds.  
  
"And you think..." John bit out, stopping half-way through to steady his voice. "...You think I'm going to talk _now_?"  
  
"No, I suppose you'd rather try to _snap_ at me with those _teeth_ of yours." Santino sighed somewhat dramatically. "But everyone has a breaking point, John."  
  
He brought the whip down again, criss-crossing his other lashes, and John screamed again, an inhuman roar that he could no longer hold back. Santino let it roll over him and bounce around the corners of the room, before he struck with the whip again, and liked the sound of _this_ scream even more than the last.  
  
"Where's your breaking point, John?" The Camorra prince laughed, and brought down the whip again, making sure to vary everything - from timing to location, to the strength of the lash. He wanted to keep Wick on his toes, and it wouldn't do to let him get used to the pain. That was an easy way to let an interrogation go bad - he'd seen it first-hand a few times - once a prisoner got used to the routine, their endorphins and dopamine would spike.  
  
It was _fun_ to watch a prisoner get off on being tortured, but ultimately... Counterproductive.  
  
He counted the strikes he'd gotten in so far, twenty altogether, and he knew the human body could handle more, but there seemed to be an awful lot of blood now, and blood always made Santino somewhat queasy. It was one of his fatal flaws, and one of the reasons his father didn't trust him as much as he trusted Gianna. Well, _that_ and his complete lack of inhibition when it came to patricide.  
  
John was like a quivering puddle now, slumped in his bonds in a way that couldn't have been comfortable for him. Santino lifted his chin with a tight grip, and smiled softly.  
  
"Tell me what I want to know, John. Tell me, and I'll let you go."  
  
"We both know... That's a lie." Wick murmured, voice hoarse from screaming, and his dark hair falling over his eyes. He looked like hell in a fucking hand basket, with bruises on both cheekbones, and everywhere the prod jabbed him. He had a split lip, and his hair was heavy with sweat, hanging just into his view. His nose looked slightly crooked, and D'Antonio knew it hadn't been _his_ doing - John had come to him somewhat... Damaged.  
  
Santino thought he looked beautiful.  
  
"Even if you _did_ let me go," Wick choked out, chuckling bitterly. "I would have a contract on my head the likes of which you've never _seen_. It would be faster to put a gun in my mouth."  
  
That took Santino by surprise, and he raised an eyebrow. He stood up from his crouch in front of John, and moved to lean against a wall.  
  
"Talk to me about it." He said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and lighting one, gesturing for John to continue.  
  
"I get out, Viggo will know I talked." The Boogeyman murmured quietly, boring holes into Santino's direction with his gaze. "Do you know what the Russians do with traitors?"  
  
"No, but I can hazard a guess, if it's bad enough that the fearless _Baba Yaga_ would rather be dead." Santino replied, and met Wick's nod with a raking glance.   
  
He saw evidence of past scars all along John's torso, including some that couldn't have been from fights, due to their nature and location.  
  
"Do you have a fondness for cigarette burns?" Santino asked, gesturing with his own cigarette to a perfectly circular scar on John's side, just under his ribcage. The growl he got in response just made him snicker. "I take that as a no?"  
  
"No matter what I answer, you'll just try it anyway, to see what happens." John bit out in a low growl.  
  
"You know me too well." Santino laughed heartily, taking another long drag of his cigarette, tapping the ashes onto the floor.  
  
"It seems we are at an impasse." The younger man said, after a long silence, and his cigarette was almost gone. The whip lay next to him on a table, still streaked with blood, and Santino gave it little more than a passing glance as he put out his cigarette on the concrete wall.  
  
"If you're to be believed, you won't talk unless you're ready for the pain to end, and that could take weeks, months maybe."  
  
"So you want me to spill it now?" Wick snarled, raising an eyebrow with a perfect sneer that Santino could have been jealous of. "Nice try, kid."  
  
"Not exactly." Santino hummed, holding his hands behind his back in a mockery of casual posture. "I want to sweeten the deal. You're a desperate man, aren't you, John?"  
  
The prisoner said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow in reply.  
  
"Come work for _me_, _Signor _Wick, and if you tell me what I want to know, I'll give you the means to protect yourself from Tarasov."  
  
"And paint a target on your own back? Forgive me if I find that offer a little... _Flimsy_." John smirked, and his facade only slipped a little when Santino backhanded him hard enough to make his head snap to the side.  
  
"Presumptuous of you to think I don't have a reason for _that_, too." D'Antonio sneered, shaking out his hand after the impact. "My sister Gianna is going to inherit the family seat at the high table. Do you know what that means for an ambitious second child like myself?"  
  
"For the first time in your life, you don't get what you want?" John snickered, and Santino ran his fingers into the other man's hair, wrenching his head back painfully.  
  
"It means that I want my _own_ empire, and New York seems a good place to start." Santino smirked, and let go of his grip on John's hair, running a hand almost _gently_ along his scalp. "Currently, the high table won't abide by it if I attack Tarasov unprovoked and out of nowhere."  
  
"But if you can goad him into making the first move..." Wick muttered, seeing the plan fall together in front of him, seeing the remarkable ambition of one Santino D'Antonio. He shone in the low light, Machiavelli's Prince incarnate.  
  
"If one of my men so much as gets a _hangnail_ in the line of duty, I plan to wipe Viggo Tarasov off the goddamn _map, Signor_ Wick." Santino murmured into the shell of his prisoner's ear. He was confident that John was off-balance enough to keep his _teeth_ in check.  
  
Wick let out a shaky breath, as if the hours of kneeling in a torture chamber had finally caught up to him. He slumped, leaning his head against Santino's shoulder, and closed his eyes.  
  
"How do I know I can trust you?" The assassin whispered.   
  
"You don't." Santino replied with a chuckle. "For that matter, how do I know I can trust _you_? You're a proud man, John Wick. I want you to pass a little test for me before you come work as my bodyguard."  
  
He wasn't _good_ at bodyguard work, John realized with a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach. He would be twice as bad if he had to protect _the spoiled brat_ twenty-four seven. His eyes flicked over to Santino's figure in his periphery, and in the lighting, they look black as coals.  
  
"Isn't it _enough_ that I'm going to endanger my life by telling you all the secrets of the Russian mob?" John growled, and Santino smirked, patting him on the cheek in a most patronizing way.  
  
"You forget, dear _Baba Yaga_, that I hold all the cards, and you are nothing but a desperate man." Wick slumped again, and the younger man trailed his fingers through the cooling blood that streaked his back, obscuring his detailed and beautiful tattoos. The assassin hissed in pain, and gritted his teeth.  
  
Santino so loved to get a rise out of him.  
  
"What would you give, to get out of this situation? What would you _do for me_ if I promised you sanctuary?"  
  
Wick swallowed hard, and Santino could see the bob of his Adam's apple below the collar. On the one hand, he could die a slow, agonizing death at the hands of his former employer. He could also spill his guts to Santino and have the hope of a clean gunshot wound to the head. _Or_... Or, he could play Santino's game, and see what happened. He would be alive, and wasn't staying_ alive_ his main goal here?  
  
What _was_ he willing to do?  
  
"Whatever you asked of me, I suppose." The assassin bit out, swallowing his pride with the last of his dignity, and allowing Santino's roaming hands to card through his hair without a word of protest.  
  
"If it meant I let you live," Santino whispered, and John could feel his hot breath as he chuckled. "Would you do _whatever_ I asked?"  
  
He let one of his hands wander down John's torso, brushing a thumb against his scar, trailing his fingers down to the button of his slacks, teasingly cupping his crotch with a quiet laugh.  
  
"If I asked you to, would you blow me, John?"  
  
A moment's silence. The older man wanted Santino to _stew_ in it for a moment. He was damn attractive, that was for sure, and he was lucky enough to be attracted to men - he wouldn't have to fake his desire when it came to this man, even if he couldn't decide between fucking him and strangling him at the moment.  
  
"That depends." Wick finally answered. "Do you trust me enough to put your pretty cock near my teeth?"  
  
"Such a charmer, you haven't even seen it yet, and you already think my cock is pretty." D'Antonio smirked, and John focused on his long eyelashes and green eyes and fantastic hair. Wick's eyes were caught on those soft-looking lips of his, pink as the last peach on the tree at the end of summer. If it was anything like the rest of the man, he could say for certain that Santino's cock would be _pretty_.  
  
"All joking aside," Santino continued, gesturing toward the other man's crotch. "If _you_ harm mine, _I'll_ harm yours. Fair?"  
  
"... Fair."  
  
Santino stood up then, and John realized just how much he'd been leaning on him. The smirk on the younger man's face was enough to shame the devil, and Wick swallowed, looking up at Santino with half-lidded eyes. His tongue flicked out, wiping the blood from his bottom lip.  
  
"In that case, this should be the best damn blow job you can offer, John Wick." Santino laughed, unable to maintain his serious face in the wake of his empty threat. The next words out of mouth made him smile like an idiot. "Suck like your _life_ _depends on it._"  
  
John rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.  
  
D'Antonio unbuckled his belt, and set it aside, well out of reach of the assassin. He could easily see it becoming a _murder weapon_, should Wick manage to force his handcuffs open. Then, he unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, pulling down his clean white underwear to reveal his pale cock, nearly hard and ready for action.  
  
He was circumcised, John noted. _Probably Catholic_, he told himself, and swallowed again, looking back up at Santino as if to ask permission. (Really, he was stalling).  
  
"Pardon me for being at 'half-mast', so to speak. That's what your screaming does to me." D'Antonio smirked. John licked his lips again, telling himself it was to moisten them, instead of a nervous tic that meant he was anxious. He was brought back to basic training with the Marines, where every day was a struggle to get better, faster, stronger, and never quite matching up to what his drill sergeant wanted from him.  
  
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Santino murmured, and his eyes darkened. His next words were an order. "_Suck_."  
  
John leaned forward, and ran his tongue along the underside of Santino's cock, licking a long stripe from base to tip with the flat of his tongue. He'd never actually done this before, but he knew the basic mechanics of how a dick worked. He'd want to slick it with his tongue before trying to deep throat it, right?  
  
Santino smiled, shoulders relaxing, and John took the tip into his mouth, sucking lightly, before swirling his tongue around the glans like a popsicle. He pulled back, and lavished his tongue along every surface of Santino's cock, glancing up through his eyelashes to gauge D'Antonio's reactions. The younger man was smirking down at him, but there was a softness to his expression that John couldn't quite name. A softness that certainly wasn't there a minute ago   
  
Now it was Wick's turn to smirk, and he ducked his head down, ignoring the pressure from his tether for the moment - it wasn't bad enough to constrict his air supply yet - he could handle this. John lifted his tongue to lave along Santino's balls, an action that made the younger man gasp in surprise, a gasp that devolved into a moan when John took one into his mouth, and _sucked_.  
  
_Let's see if we can't get you hard as a fucking _rock_, D'Antonio_. John thought with some bit of pride as he dragged the most sinful moans out of Santino's throat, before switching to the other ball, showing just as much careful attention to both of them.  
  
"Fuck. _Fuck!_" Santino hissed, running a hand through his own hair, just for the sake of something to grab. "Oh God, John. That is _surprisingly_ good."  
  
Wick raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _"Would you expect any less of me?"_ And Santino snorted, carding a hand through the assassin's hair again. Something really turned him on about having the world's most dangerous man on his knees. Bound and helpless. _Sucking his cock_.  
  
John licked his way to the base of Santino's erection, and ran his tongue all the way back up to the tip. There, he closed his mouth around the top third of Santino's cock and hummed from low in his chest, knowing the vibrations would drive D'Antonio wild.  
  
"I must admit. I- ah!" Santino broke off, his sentence falling into a moan as John swallowed him deeper, trying to relax his throat despite the collar. He was beginning to doubt that this sort of feat was even possible - just how was he supposed to get his mouth to the base when he was gagging around less than half?  
  
Meanwhile, Santino had recovered from his outcry, and continued his thought.  
  
"I was... _Under the impression _that you'd never done this before." D'Antonio murmured.  
_  
Bold of you to assume I know what I'm doing, _John thought. He felt the hand in his hair tighten, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he forced back the gag reflex and sank his mouth over more of Santino's erection.  
  
"Ah - keep going." The Camorra prince murmured, leaning his head back and closing his eyes to savor the feeling. "_Come on_, John. I know you can take more than that."  
  
Wick huffed in annoyance, and pulled away, despite the man clutching his hair at the moment, trying to pull him back.  
  
"I _haven't_ actually done this before." John retorted, clearing his throat and panting a bit. "So try not to _strangle_ me, D'Antonio."  
  
Santino laughed, running a thumb across one of the bruises on John's face before dragging him back down by the hair like a desperate man. The assassin tried to pick up his pace this time, laving a new layer of slickness with his tongue. The taste of pre-cum was... Surprising, to say the least. Thick and salty, he smeared it back down the cock like lube, partially because he thought it might help, and partially because he wanted to taste Santino's skin again after _that_ experience.  
  
The younger man was teasing, but to be honest, John was _good_. His technique had some room for improvement, but he made up for it with eagerness, and the charming insight of someone who worked with the same _parts_ on a * basis. Was this what it felt like when a man was desperate? If John Wick didn't hurry the fuck up and go down on him, he might actually kill the man out of sheer frustration.  
  
"I'm getting close now, John." Santino murmured, trying hard not to grip tighter, and _drag_ Wick's mouth onto his cock. He really, really wanted to feel that delightful stubble against the base of his crotch, and the thought of _forcing_ John to take him all at once was simply _tantalizing_. That wasn't part of the plan though - Santino wanted the Boogeyman to do this on his own free will, a show of _loyalty_ to his new life.  
  
Finally, he felt ready. Santino was clenching and unclenching the fistfuls of hair he latched onto, and John could tell by the set of his mouth that he was ready to climax, if only John would push him over the edge. He wrapped his lips around the tip again, and sucked hard, harder, around the glans, running his tongue through the pre-cum again, despite the taste that made him want to gag. He swallowed more of the younger man's cock, inch by inch, and finally wrapped his lips around the base with tears in his eyes and cheeks that were flushed red.  
  
"Yes, fuck, yes." Santino whispered almost feverishly. "Now _move_, John!"  
  
Wick obliged, sliding back with a kind of relief, and when he reached the tip, he sucked before going down again. Santino groaned, and couldn't resist gripping tighter into John's hair, moving with the pace he set for himself as he bobbed back down. D'Antonio watched his erection disappear into the other man's mouth and nearly came from the sight alone.  
  
"Faster, _faster_, John." Santino nearly whined. "Ah- _fuck_\- f-faster."  
  
John gagged as he picked up the pace, and the spasm of his throat around Santino's cock was fantastic, completely blissful, and the younger man cried out, nearly sobbing with the intensity. Wick was undetered, and he completed this job the way he completed every job - with complete professional courtesy.  
  
"_Mio dios_, John..." Santino murmured. "Fuck... I'm coming -"  
  
With a hum that could have meant anything from agreement to disapproval, John Wick relaxed his throat as best as he could, and bobbed faster, ignoring the tears in his eyes and the lingering pain from his torture - laser focused on one goal, and one goal only. He wrapped his lips around the base of the cock one more time, and sucked, pressing the member with the flat of his tongue and swallowing hard with his throat.  
  
The young Italian man climaxed with a shudder and the loudest moan, tightening his hands into John's hair with a force that would have hurt _badly_ if he had been trying to pull away. Wick _wasn't_ trying to pull away though - he'd made his choice, and he was committed to making this the _best goddamn blow job of Santino D'Antonio's fucking **life**_. He swallowed everything Santino could shoot out, and he was too tired to even grimace at the taste. Santino felt like his soul had been sucked out of his very body, and nearly would have fallen over - were it not for his hands, still tangled in John's hair.  
  
"Don't fall." The assassin murmured, sliding his mouth off of the now-flaccid member, and looking up through heavy dark eyes. "If you knock your head, no one will unlock these handcuffs."  
  
"I'll unlock you in a moment. First, there's something I need to explain." Santino replied, with a quiet voice and an expression of complete satisfaction. He pointed towards an innocuous light fixture in the middle of the ceiling. "Our little hidden camera has gotten quite a show. I'll be hanging on to that tape, _Signor_ Wick, to ensure your... _Good behavior_."  
  
John narrowed his eyes, but didn't protest. To be fair, it was a smart move - keeping the tape meant he couldn't double cross Santino _and_ Viggo and bolt out of the country, or to the nearest Continental. It didn't mean he had to _like_ it.  
  
Despite all his leverage and blackmail, Santino was still sort of expecting a fight as soon as the handcuffs came off, and the leg straps were removed. Next came the collar, and John was perfectly still while Santino released him. Then, he crumpled forward, stretching out his legs with a pained groan - they were practically numb after being on his knees for hours now. Santino's eyes were drawn to the litany of injuries etched onto the man's skin, from his red and striped back, to the bruises all along his torso, and purpled around his throat from the times he had no choice but to strain against the tether. He looked... Delectable.  
  
Santino flipped out his cellphone and wrote a quick text.  
  
_Hello Ares. Please ready a first aid kit when you come to pick me up. I will probably have need of it. I meant to ask our guest a few questions, but it seems he is in no state to answer them._  
  
Ares responded with a laughing emoji and noted that she was on her way.


End file.
